


Shake Your Pom-Poms

by redsilkribbons (tapdance00)



Category: No Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-23
Updated: 2010-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-07 16:02:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tapdance00/pseuds/redsilkribbons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Enterprise get in touch with their creative sides.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shake Your Pom-Poms

Title: Shake Your Pom-Poms  
Author: [](http://redsilkribbons.livejournal.com/profile)[**redsilkribbons**](http://redsilkribbons.livejournal.com/)  
Series: Star Trek XI  
Pairing: gen, Kirk/Spock if you squint  
Rating: PG  
Warnings: Swearing  
Summary: The Enterprise get in touch with their creative sides.  
Word Count: ~2000  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not even the pom-poms.  
A/N: For [](http://illogicalyet.livejournal.com/profile)[**illogicalyet**](http://illogicalyet.livejournal.com/) and her fondness for Glee.  
Also Posted [Here](http://redsilkribbons.dreamwidth.org/954.html)

Jim Kirk notices that something is amiss on his ship.

Jim Kirk notices that something is amiss on his ship. He can’t put his finger on it exactly. His bridge crew has been as competent as ever, but they vanish after their shifts. And Uhura keeps _smiling_ at him. It’s alarming. The Enterprise is on a routine mission ferrying medical equipment for the Andorians. There is no reason for everyone to be so damn perky. Jim tell himself he’s overreacting until he sees a particularly gruff security officer attempting an old-fashioned shuffle in the hallway near the rec rooms, counting steps under his breath. While Jim would ordinarily encourage all manner of embarrassing self-expression when not on duty, there is definitely something _off_ about this. He turns his attention back to the hallway and sees that the shuffling security officer is being lectured by a mousy engineering ensign on his footwork. Jim blinks. He decides he needs to relax. Maybe take a nap.

 

 

“Okay,” Jim thinks as he strides into his room. He’s going to shower and then he’s going to power through some paperwork. And then maybe things will be less strange. He emerges from the fresher and gets to work. Twenty minutes later he’s hunched over his PADD. He hears someone rustling around in the bathroom and then there’s the sound of water running. Spock must be back from the labs. Jim’s eyes are glazing over. He leaps to attention, however, when he hears an odd warbling sound coming through the bathroom door. Jim frowns. It can’t be. He gets up and puts his ear to the door.

 

 

Through the sound of water Jim hears an indistinct _“Hum-hum-hum-hum-hum-hum-hummmmm,”_ Jim steps back as though stung. He looks at the door for a long minute. Steeling himself, Jim presses back against it. Sure enough, he hears his First Officer’s deep baritone, now singing about _“hands... touch-ing hands…”_ A familiar feeling of dread begins to grow in his stomach. What if this is one of those strange space diseases? Like that time where alien spores made Spock roll around in a field of flowers until Jim goaded him into a fist fight. He leaves his room in a near-run.

 

 

Jim enters sickbay to find it almost empty. He goes to Bones’ office and finds the man himself sorting through paperwork and _whistling tunefully._ Jim’s face blanches and he leans against the door for support.

 

 

Bones looks up to greet him. “Hey Jim. Coming from the bridge?”

 

 

“It’s got you too!” Jim sputters.

 

 

Bones looks concerned. “What’re you talking about? You okay?”

 

 

Jim studies Bones. Apart from the clearly pathological cheeriness, he seems to have his wits about him. So Jim draws in a breath and decides to go for it. “Okay, Bones. I know this sounds crazy.”

 

 

Bones sighs. “Oh, this is going to be painful.”

 

 

“But, have you noticed anything different around here?”

 

 

“Yeah, it’s been quiet for once. I’m ahead of schedule on physicals for the week. We’ve even had time to organize the extra medical supply kits.” Bones looks positively beatific. “My sickbay is pristine.”

 

 

“I think there’s something going ‘round the ship,” Jim blurts. “Like a behaviour-modifying disease, or something.”

 

 

Bones stares. “What are the symptoms?”

 

 

“Spock was singing in the shower.” Jim says desperately. “And- and there are people dancing in hallways.”

 

 

“I’m a _doctor_ Jim. I’m only responsible for _medical_ problems. What your crew get up to in their free time is _your_ responsibility.”

 

 

“Bones, come on!” Jim says, gesticulating wildly. “Don’t you think all these… musical displays of happiness are unnatural? I mean, we’re Starfleet officers. We’re not exactly known for expressing our feelings.”

 

 

Bones looks uncomfortable now. “People have hobbies, Jim. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

 

 

Jim glares. “I’m telling you, Bones. Something’s not right.”

 

 

“Alright, I’ll run some tests,” Bones huffs, “but I think you’re overreacting.”

 

 

Jim claps his shoulder, never so relieved to see Bones’ scowl in his life. “Great! Let me know how it goes.”

 

 

He goes to mess hall keeping a wary eye out for any impromptu singing or dancing. Instead, he finds Spock sitting alone, giving his full attention to his steamed vegetables and lentils. They discuss ship business and when Jim teases Spock, Spock is his usual dry, overly-literal self. This, Jim later realizes, lulls him into a false sense of security.

 

 

The next day, after beta shift, he leaves to talk to Scotty. Scotty is a creature of habit; he moves between the mess hall and engineering. He’s been known to stay away from his quarters for days at a time when some new project has his attention. Thus, Jim's uneasiness returns full force when his Chief Engineer is nowhere to be found. When he tracks him down using the ship’s computer, Jim finds Scotty with Uhura, walking down a hallway containing some of the lesser used conference rooms. Scotty has a haphazardly-pinned kilt over his uniform and is trailing behind Uhura wielding a set of bagpipes.

 

 

“Just give a try, lass,” he wheedles. “It’ll fit righ’ into that number with the trumpets!”

 

 

“No bagpipes Scotty! It’ll throw off the arrangement of the whole song!”

 

Determined to get to the bottom of this musical madness disease, Jim flattens himself against the wall and peers around the corner, just in time to see Uhura and Scotty disappear into one of the larger rooms. Chekov comes scurrying down the hallway seconds later, wearing fitted, sequined pants. Jim glares. Those are definitely against regulation. Sulu enters next and, finally, Spock and Bones. The traitors. He gives them half a minute to let down their guard and he bursts into the room.

 

 

Inside, Scotty has abandoned his bagpipes and Uhura is sweeping her arms in some complicated motion in front of a bemused Chekov. Jim enters and “ahems” dramatically. Everyone turns to him. Uhura’s mouth drops open in way that Jim, frankly, finds unattractive.

 

 

“Jim!” Bones is the first to recover himself. “What’re you doing here?”

 

 

“Is there something wrong, Captain?” asks Spock stepping forward.

 

 

“Yes! What are you guys doing? And what is that?” Jim indicates Bones’ blue sparkly bandana in horror.

 

 

“Oh, we entered the show choir tournament,” Sulu says opening his arms expansively.

 

 

“It is not a tournament, Hikaru, it's a competition,” Chekov frowns.

 

 

“Whatever. We still have to come up with a good name for our group, though.”

 

 

“Huh?” says Jim brightly.

 

 

“Don’t you read the rec room bulletins? The Communications team sends them out every week,” Uhura says disapprovingly.

 

 

Despite himself, Jim flushes. “I’ve had a lot of paperwork recently.”

 

 

“Some of the Yeomen started up this thing. It’s taken on a life of its own, really,” explains Sulu.

 

 

“Aye. Auditions were a week ago. There’s a good fifteen teams signed up. An’ the competition starts in a month. That science group is good too... astrophysicists are tricky buggers.”

 

 

“Oh. That sounds. Cool. What's the prize?" Jim asks looking around.

 

Uhura looks at him as if he's particularly dim. "You win."

 

"Really? That's it? No cash prize or anything?"

 

"The winners will be reigning Glee champions," Sulu says. "Just think of the glory and honour."

 

"And girls like dancers," Chekov says.

 

“Adult dancers," sniggers Jim. "Wait,” he says suddenly distracted. “Is Bones going to dance? Oh my God! Spock!” Jim gazes at his First Officer, temporarily struck dumb.

 

 

“Is he alright?” asks Chekov.

 

 

“Is _Spock_ going to shake his booty?” Jim finally manages, wide-eyed.

 

Spock looks surprised. “I do not understand the specifics of your query, Jim, but Vulcans have always appreciated the arts.”

 

 

Bones sighs. “This. This is exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

 

 

“Come on, Bones. I would have tried out with you.”

 

 

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Bones says. “I’ve heard you on karaoke nights.”

 

 

“I am perfectly on key. And I can dance,” Jim preens.

 

 

Now everyone looks shifty.

 

 

“What? I can dance. Didn’t you guys see me tear it up at that Tellarite Ambassador’s retirement?”

 

 

“You were… enthusiastic,” Uhura says, crossing her arms.

 

 

“Tha’s true enough,” Scotty chortles. “S’okay mate. Can’t be good at everything. No shame in havin’ two left feet, eh?”

 

 

Jim is outraged. “I’m a _good_ dancer,” he sputters.

 

 

“Very well. Perhaps you would like to practice with us today. Having an even number of people will enable us to have more varied choreography.”

 

 

“Okay,” Jim says. His competitive streak is rearing its head. “Any moves you guys can do I can do better. And without the sparkly tights.”

 

 

“Zey are pants,” Chekov insists, throwing Uhura a betrayed look.

 

 

“Of course they’re pants,” Uhura says patting Chekov’s hand. She glares at Jim. “We should get started. Spock and Sulu have to be in the bio labs in an hour.”

 

 

“So this is the first sequence. Sulu can you count?” Uhura goes to demonstrate. Sulu turns on the music and Uhura is off. She does a kind of a jump and twirl and ends with a split.

 

 

Jim’s first attempt results in the projector screen on the wall falling down loudly. By the fifth try, he’s ready to give up. “Okay,” he says getting to his feet unsteadily. “There’s no way all of you can do that.”

 

 

“Well we don’t have it synchronized yet,” Sulu says.

 

 

“Sulu and Spock, I understand,” Jim says. He gestures at Sulu. “You’re flexible with that fencing stuff. And Uhura does ballet and Chekov is young and... Russian.”

 

 

“Da. Ballet was inwented in Russia.”

 

 

“At least this time the kid’s close,” Bones says.

 

 

“But where did you two learn this? You’re not even field officers.” Jim glares at Bones and Scotty.

 

 

Scotty shrugs. “I do yoga.”

 

 

“McCoys are gifted dancers, Jim. It’s in my blood,” Bones says smugly.

 

 

“I am aware that involvement in social groups is important for humans. Perhaps, Jim, you could participate in another way,” Spock suggests.

 

 

“Da. You can help Uhura wiz ze costumes,” Chekov chirps.

 

 

Uhura huffs. “The pants are _lovely_ Chekov.”

 

 

“Maybe I can judge,” Jim says. “Who else is judging?”

 

 

“Oh. Giotto from security and Yeoman Rand and someone else from engineering?”

 

 

Jim’s face falls. “Cupcake? What kind of dance experience can Cupcake have?”

 

 

“He is a well-known amateur jazz dancer,” Spock says.

 

 

“He’s quite talented,” Uhura confirms.

 

 

“Well I’m not getting in fights with him and Rand. They both have it in for me.”

 

 

Spock frowns. “Yeoman Rand increases your administrative efficiency by 11.2%.”

 

 

“Well, still. It's best not to give her more reasons to shove paperwork at me. I guess I’ll just come watch then,” Jim says a bit despondently.

 

 

“Ze audience is wery important,” Chekov nods.

 

 

“Oh _very_ important. You can make signs,” Uhura says dryly.

 

 

Jim narrows his eyes. “Any signs I made would be fucking gorgeous.”

 

 

“Sure they would, Jim,” Bones says patting his friend’s back and going back to his stretching.

 

 

“I look forward to your work, Captain,” Spock says.

 

 

“What?” Jim asks, confused.

 

 

“Cheering is, I believe, traditional at these Terran events?” Spock says. “I am certain you will- I believe the term is cheerlead- admirably.”

 

 

Jim can _see_ Bones and Sulu smirking at each other, the fuckers. He's not blind. But Spock looks almost _hopeful._ Jim wilts. “Fine," he sighs. "I’ll make signs. They’ll be awesome.”

 

"You do not appear enthused," Spock observes. "You are not obligated to 'cheerlead.'" Spock looks at the floor. "It would be logical to spend your time on more pressing matters."

 

"No, no," Jim says. "I'll do signs. It'll be great!" he musters up a smile.

 

“Great!” Uhura beams. “I’ll give you our colour scheme.”

 

 

“We’re not doing purple. Dark blue is better,” Bones argues, muffled because his head is touching his knee.

 

"I wanted red," Sulu interjects. "Red is knightly."

 

 

Jim decides to head out before the fur starts to fly. He’s a starship Captain after all. He has things to do. And he can practice his bubble letters.


End file.
